


Patience

by Make_It_Worse



Series: Brat Tamer [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, BDSM Scene, Bottom Connor, Butt Plugs, Cock Rings, Coming Untouched, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Is a Brat, Discipline, Dom Hank Anderson, Dom/sub, Edging, Eventual Orgasm, Graduate School, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Denial, Prostate Massage, Punishment, Top Hank Anderson, mean hank anderson, reassuring your bottom hours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 02:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20463608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Make_It_Worse/pseuds/Make_It_Worse
Summary: D/s scenes. Pay attention to the tags. This is part of a series.Part 2





	Patience

It wasn’t unusual for Connor to take a seat in the front row; he did it with all of his classes. He wanted his professors to remember him and it helped when it came to seeking letters of recommendation or professional advice. For Professor Anderson's class, however, it afforded him different opportunities.

Anderson didn't treat him any differently during lectures despite their clandestine after-hours activities. At first, Connor thought it was a smart move. After all, they didn't want to get caught. As the weeks wore on, though, insecurities crept in.

Anderson was as demanding of Connor in the privacy of his office as he was in the classroom. More than once, Connor found himself wondering if he was disappointing his professor on both fronts. Anderson had never hinted to any such thoughts, but his cool detachment when lecturing gave Connor doubts.

Sitting front and center in the classroom made Connor an easy focal point, but his professor went out of his way to lock eyes with several pupils throughout the lecture. Anderson was an intimidating man and his reputation had led most of Connor's classmates to take seats near the back. More often than not, Connor had the first row to himself.

Unlike theoretical lectures, Anderson's class contained a hands-on component and required more thorough work desks. The great slab top of the work surface sloped down on either side in a solid wall, ensconcing students. While it was meant for stability to hold heavy electronics and robotic parts, Connor noted it offered a modicum of privacy as well.

Anderson had called him a brat on more than one occasion, and a sly smile tries to claim his face at the memory. Perhaps, he thought to himself, it was time to live up to the title. Anderson narrows his eyes ever so slightly at him and Connor knows he has his attention despite no pause in his lecturing.

The day's topics focus on the Internet of Things and the ethical implications of connected devices. Connor's bored sick of the subject and is well-versed in the material. He can afford to let his mind wander.

Although it's been less than a week since he'd last spent time with his professor, Connor aches for his touch. Anderson handled him in ways Connor had only dreamed of and his shoulders droop under the weight of his memories. Meeting Anderson’s gaze, his eyes gloss over with molten desire.

Professor Anderson pointedly ignores him.

It's a game they play, seeing who can wait the other out before one of them forces the issues. If Connor caves first, he asks to speak with his professor during office hours. If Anderson caves, he informs Connor he’s to stop by his office; it’s never worded as a request. Connor suppresses a shiver, hoping for the latter. Anderson was always more primal when he broke first. If Connor wanted his professor to wreck him, he'd need to push his buttons first.

With his classmates so far behind him, he doesn't have to take much care with being discreet. Several rows of empty seats and the large work desk shield him from the rear and sides. Spreading his legs wide, Connor runs a hand down the front of his jeans, repeating the motion until a noticeable bulge demands his professor's attention. Anderson's eyes flicker once as if unsure of what he's seeing, but then he continues as if unaffected by the sight.

Connor carries on with the gentle fondling through the remaining ten minutes of Professor Anderson's lecture. He feels a twinge of disappointment when Anderson concludes for the day and turns to his desk to pack up his briefcase. Connor remains at his desk as his classmates file out, trying to make it appear as if he's rooting around in his satchel rather than waiting for his erection to die down.

"Stern," his professor calls to him and his dick bobs in excitement. "Where's your paper on ethics and morals?"

While it may be a tired tactic, it was effective. Connor lingered in the appearance of discussing a missing paper that they both knew was in Anderson's briefcase.

"I—" Connor breaks off, seeing his chance to steer the conversation, "I was hoping to discuss a deadline extension with you during your office hours."

His eyes glance to his fellow students still trickling out the door, willing them to leave already.

"My hours are booked," Anderson answers flatly and Connor tries to keep his jaw from dropping to the floor. Anderson had never outright turned him down before, especially not after behaving like a wonton terror during a lecture.

His mouth opens and closes several times in confusion until Anderson sighs, "I could stay _late_ if it's that important." Connor's eyes gleam at his professor's tone, realizing Anderson doesn't want to be rushed; he plans to time his time with Connor.

The rest of the day passes in a haze of aching anticipation. More than once, Connor considers taking matters into his own hands. He can handle more than one orgasm in a day, but he ultimately decides against it. He knows it will be infinitely better if he waits.

The lights are dim in the hall leading to Anderson's office after-hours. With dusk well behind them and the other faculty gone home for the evening, Connor shivers at the knowledge that they're truly alone. He wonders how loudly Anderson plans to make him scream.

Connor raps lightly at the door, his courage flagging as it always does when Anderson instigates their meetings. His erection has no such qualms, more than ready to be enveloped by the heady presence of his professor. A rough voice barks for him to enter and Connor slips inside.

He's always impressed at how rapidly his professor is able to get him into various states of undress while somehow buffeting Connor's attempts to do the same to him. The most he'd ever succeeded at was removing a suit jacket and maybe a button or two of his professor's shirt.

Tonight, Anderson has him down to his boxers in record time, large hands none-to-gentle in their disrobing.

"On the desk," he growls, half-manhandling Connor onto his back.

"Hands," he issues the one-word command and Connor's wrists snap together in a familiar motion.

Anderson almost smiles before his features settle back into something sensual and dark. Pulling his belt from its loops, he fastens it tightly, binding Connor's hands together. Although Connor anticipated the next bit, he gasps slightly at Anderson tugging his arms firmly above his head.

Neatly slipping one of the belt notches over a sturdy hook on the underside of the desk lip, Anderson presses a heavy palm to Connor's stretched chest, "Look at me."

Connor swallows heavily, meeting his professor's piercing blue gaze. Warm fingertips trail down Connor's stomach, dipping briefly into his navel before gliding feather-light over his erection straining through the thin material of his boxers.

"I suppose you think yourself clever," Anderson's tone is deceptively light and Connor's heart hammers in anticipation.

"I wanted," Connor's voice comes out breathy and his face flushes slightly between his outstretched arms. "I wanted your attention."

"So I noticed," Anderson's voice remains detached and devoid of the gruff lust it had when Connor first entered his office. His hand continues to stroke Connor lightly and he squirms, seeking more friction.

"Are you that needy of my regard that you'd risk exposure?" Anderson takes that moment to slide Connor's boxers to his knees, his erection springing into view. He ignores it, waiting for Connor's answer.

"I-I didn't...no one could see. I didn't think—"

"No, you didn't," Anderson agrees, his gaze pinning Connor to the table more effectively than the belt around his wrists.

"There're a lot of things I can teach you, Connor," thick fingers grip him by the chin, forcing him to hold his gaze.

"Perhaps this next lesson is one you'll actually commit to memory," Anderson arches a brow as he opens a drawer somewhere off to Connor's left. Connor knows its contents well by now and gooseflesh breaks out across his skin.

"What lesson, sir?" he whispers the question he knows Anderson wants him to ask. Sure enough, a wicked grin graces his professor's strong features.

"Patience," he says simply, pressing the lubricated tip of a toy against Connor's puckered entrance before sliding it to the base.

"Oh, fuck," Connor whimpers, almost certain he knows which toy Anderson's picked.

His professor twists at the base until the curved tip of the toy brushes inside Connor in a way that makes him arch against a moan. A click almost too quiet to hear is the only forewarning Connor gets before the tip pressed against his prostate begins to vibrate.

"You wanted my attention, Connor," Anderson murmurs, tone polite. "Well, you have it now. And I have all night."

It takes less than five minutes for Connor to crack, "Please." He'd be embarrassed by how needy he sounds, but the low hum inside him consumes all of his attention. His hips thrust down, chasing sensation he can't control as Anderson loosens his tie and sits back to watch.

"No."

Connor flinches against the single word answer as if Anderson had hit him.

"Please," Connor can't help it. It's not enough. It's too much. If Anderson would just kiss him, touch him, _anything_ to help keep him grounded, "I won't do it again. I swear. I—"

Anderson leans forward to lay a heavy hand across Connor's mouth, "I'm sure you won't. That's not the point." His free thumb depresses on the clicker once more and Connor sags in relief, assuming Anderson is giving him a break. His body goes rigid when the vibrations resume with greater intensity, an unfamiliar rhythm of pulses making him pant and strain against the belt holding him down.

Connor jerks in alarm when the phone by his head blares into the relative quiet of his professor's office. Pressing a finger to his lips, Anderson reaches for the antiquated receiver. The cord of it drags in a chilly coil across Connor's chest.

"Hank Anderson speaking. Robotics. How can I help you?" Connor hears the rumble of an answer on the other end and has to bite back a whimper.

"Hey, Jeff. Can you hold on a minute? One of my students is at the door—What? Oh, I know, right? Presumptuous little brats."

Anderson presses a button to mute the call before pulling a pocket square from his suit jacket. Stuffing it unceremoniously into Connor's mouth, he loosens his tie to wrap it several times over Connor's mouth.

"Be quiet," his tone is firm, but his hand is gentle as it cards through Connor's hair. A soft sound gets lost somewhere in the makeshift gag and Connor nods. Anderson's head tilts on a grin as he clicks the remote once more and unmutes the call.

Connor's eyes fly wide as the vibration pattern changes, increasing in frequency and intensity. He exhales rapid, frantic breaths through his nose, fighting to remain silent while Anderson carries on casual conversation.

Panic grips him when he feels his orgasm building in his gut. Anderson appears nowhere near ending the call and Connor risks a small whimper to get his attention. One look at Connor's face is all Anderson needs to assess the situation. With a swift double click, the vibrations decrease, as does the likelihood of Connor coming untouched on his professor's desk.

Connor isn't sure if he's relieved or disappointed.

Connor expected Anderson to bring him to completion after ending the call—to ramp back up the vibrations, to take him in hand, to fuck him. Anything, so long as he could come.

Instead, he opens his briefcase, pulling out recent quizzes.

Connor mumbles a high-pitched, unintelligible question through his makeshift gag as Anderson begins checking answers. Except for the occasional change in vibration, Anderson ignores him.

"Morons, all of them," Anderson mutters to himself, discarding a graded quiz on Connor's chest as if he is the desk himself. Connor makes it through three more quizzes before his hips begin to buck against nothing without his volition.

Two more quizzes and he's unable to bite back sound. A constant torrent of needy whimpers and moans filter out around the gag. Anderson continues to ignore him even when his thrashing sends several graded quizzes to the ground.

Anderson doesn't relent until Connor sobs out a desperate sound, drowning in overstimulation despite his orgasm still locked inside him. The vibrations are too low to do more than drive him to the brink of release, leaving him teetering on the edge of it.

His professor thumbs at a tear tracking down his temple before cutting the vibrations altogether. Connor's body sags bonelessly against the desk damp with his own sweat. Gentle hands remove the provisional gag before pulling the toy free from Connor's body. He sobs at the final drag inside him and turns to hide his face in his arm.

Anderson releases his wrists and Connor all but tumbles off the desk into his waiting arms.

"You didn't tap," Anderson murmurs into his hair. Connor shakes his head, pressing his face into his professor's neck, missing his professor's pleased smile. Connor knows he could've ended it all if he wanted, whenever he wanted by tapping his foot in rapid succession.

"Please," he whispers, still in the moment, still craving release.

Anderson pulls him back to press a kiss to his forehead before meeting his gaze, "No."

Frustrated tears well in his eyes and he curls in on himself against Anderson's chest. One large hand rubs along Connor's spine while Anderson makes soft shushing sounds, bringing Connor back from the threshold of orgasm.

"Patience," he says firmly when Connor grows less frantic and is more inclined to listen. He goes still and Anderson knows he has his full attention.

"If you can keep your hands to yourself and your mind on your studies," Anderson begins, preparing to dangle the carrot Connor desperately desires. "I'll take care of you after the next lecture."

Connor chokes around a sob, but nods. Two days. His hand fists into Anderson's button-down as he imagines the different ways Anderson could take him.

He can wait for two days.

***

Connor awoke on the first day of waiting painfully hard and rutting into his mattress like some feral animal. Things got easier after a cold shower, and, good to his word, he threw himself into his studies.

Graduation was soon enough and Connor couldn't afford to let his grades slip. The program was wildly competitive and Connor had hopes that his contract position as a robotics engineer would become a full-time employment opportunity once he completed his advanced degree.

Anderson supported the goal in his way. His strict admonitions were as effective as they were maddening. Connor had studied harder and applied himself more than ever since they started their clandestine arrangement.

The promise of Anderson's touch was an effective incentive.

The second day proves much more difficult to manage. He makes it halfway through it before he realizes he's not halfway at all. Even if he survives Anderson's lecture without combusting, he'll have to wait until Anderson's done working for the day. Whatever he has planned, it won't be a quick office visit.

Connor feels himself grow slightly paler when he learns that day's lecture is a hands-on demonstration. He very much doubts Anderson will make it easy on him and he blinks heavily while sucking in a stabilizing breath before walking into the classroom and taking his usual seat.

Anderson doesn't treat him any differently than he does the other students. That's not the challenge. The issue is that Anderson's presence has a significant, sensual effect on Connor while the others are terrified of the man. Where Anderson looming over any other student might make them nervous, the act made Connor's thighs clench with want.

His hands tremble badly when his professor circles around to him to observe his progress on the small device before him.

"Nice work," he comments sincerely, hefting the small electronic to peer at it in greater detail. "We have contrasting areas of expertise."

Connor blinks in confusion, not used to Professor Anderson speaking to him so candidly about his work, "Sir?"

Anderson squints at the tiny, reassembled object, "You have a gift for putting things together—for finding out how to make seemingly incongruous parts form a whole."

Curiosity piqued, Connor asks, "And you, sir? Where do your talents lie?"

Anderson leans closer as he sets the delicate device back before Connor, "Me? I'm more than adequate at taking things apart."

Dropping his voice lower so only Connor can hear, he murmurs, "Brats, too. I'm pretty good at dismantling them if the occasion calls for it."

His fingertips ghost across Connor's wrist as his hand retracts from the apparatus Connor's been working on. To an outsider, it would appear unintentional. Connor knows better and his entire body burns. It isn't fair for Anderson to do this to him, during class, the hypocrite.

Angry, frustrated words surge to the top of his tongue before he swallows them back down. Anderson gives him a fleeting smile and a nod. Connor knows when he's being tested and like hell is he going to make such an obvious mistake as to verbally lash out at his professor during class.

With the practical part of class over, Anderson resumes his place at the podium to wrap up with a discussion on where he expects students to be in their projects. Connor purposefully places his hands on top of his desk.

They're folded so tight, the knuckles glow white.

Anderson's eyes rest on them for a moment, his speech never faltering as he reminds his slightly panicked students of resources available to them if they've fallen behind on their work. Connor listens to every word intently, looking every inch like a hyper-focused student.

He doesn't rise when Anderson concludes the lecture. He doesn't speak when Anderson calmly ignores him while packing his briefcase. He doesn't even blink when Anderson strides out the door without so much as a nod.

Patience, he reminds himself when his resolve begins to crack.

Relief tries to flood through his body when his cellphone vibrates, declaring he has one unread email. It tries, but frantic, pent-up lust consumes most of Connor's conscious thought.

"Mr. Stern, blah, blah, blah," Connor mutters to himself, "...meet me for a quick chat..."

Connor sees the requested time and hurtles from the desk without finishing the email. Screw patience. He'd made it. He was in.

It takes everything he has not to scream in outrage when he sees the long line outside Anderson's office.

"You, too, huh?" A blonde girl he recognizes as a classmate asks when she sees his dismayed face. "Looks like he wants to talk to all of us. Alpha-order."

Connor sinks to the ground, his back pressed against the wall, cursing his last name's alphabetic position. While it only takes around half an hour for the line to dwindle, Connor feels every minute pass like a personal assault. By the time Anderson's familiar voice barks out his name, his bones are practically vibrating out of his skin.

"Have a seat, Stern," Anderson motions to the chair in front of his desk. "This shouldn't take long."

Connor grips the arms tightly, wondering if it's possible for his knucklebones to burst through his skin. The talk is short and devoid of anything useful. Lust and frustration war in his gut and he seriously considers kicking the door on his way out when Anderson's voice calls, "Connor?"

Connor's head whips around with the comedic speed of the desperately horny and hopeful.

"Check your email when you get a chance. I'll be sending along some notes about your progress and next steps shortly." Connor fumbles a flustered thanks before nearly colliding into the next students waiting for their meeting.

Hurtling back to the privacy of his apartment, Connor has to try his login three times before he gets it right, his shaking fingers striking incorrect keys.

Anderson's email sits innocuously in his inbox save for the fact that it's from a personal account. Connor's surprise at the length of Anderson's email vanishes into a soft, "Oh," when he realizes it's a list of instructions. He colors hotly at some of the directives while his dick surges to full mast.

After two days of a persistent state of half hardness, Connor's more than ready to comply. The email ends with a time and an address along with a stern warning, "Do not be late."

Connor stands outside the door of 115 Michigan Drive for a full five minutes before pressing a trembling finger to the doorbell. He hadn't realized Anderson was inviting him to his home. The implication was provocative and Connor's knees felt weak.

More often than not, they spend their time in Anderson's office. Occasionally, they'd met at Connor's apartment, but it made them both uneasy with so many other students living nearby. To be here, at his professor's house—Connor very much feels the need to sit down.

"Jesus," Anderson mutters when he sees Connor's pinched expression, ushering him inside. It's not an utterance of empathy; it's deep satisfaction.

Behind the safety of closed doors, Anderson palms at Connor's erection through his pants as if to check if it's there. Connor buckles at the touch, pitching forward to bury his face into his professor's chest while his fists twist into a fine terrycloth robe. A hysterical sound like a small, wounded animal escapes past Connor's clenched teeth.

"Did you do as I asked?" Anderson's voice rings out over his head, amusement at Connor's frantic neediness. When Connor mumbles his response, large fingers twine into his curls, forcing him to meet his professor's gaze. Unable to hide his embarrassment, Connor nods.

"Good," Anderson murmurs before running a broad thumb across Connor's lower lip. "Have a seat," he offers, a mischievous smile spreading across his face.

Connor swallows before slowly lowering onto the couch Anderson gestured to. It's not entirely comfortable, but—

His breath hitches when his professor holds up a familiar remote, "We'll see how well you followed your instructions. Let's pick up where we left off, hmm?"

Knowing it's coming doesn't soften the blow. The plug he'd obediently placed earlier vibrates into life, wrenching a debauched moan from Connor's throat.

"Undress," Anderson orders softly and he waits while Connor struggles out of his clothes from his seat on the couch. He takes pity, leaving the vibration on the lowest setting while Connor wriggles out of his pants. He hadn't bothered with briefs, per his professor's request.

"Ahh," Anderson nearly coos as he thumbs at the leaking tip of Connor's erection. "So good for me."

Connor flushes hideously at the praise, convulsing at the unexpected touch. Although Anderson can't see it, Connor's reaction confirms the presence of the plug nestled between his cheeks. What is immediately clear, however, is the vibrant, pink ring wrapped around Connor's cock,

Anderson had left that addition up to him, noting in his email that the duration of their evening was entirely in Connor's court. Connor was fairly certain he would come the second Anderson touched him, and he'd prefer for the night to last longer than that. Hence the ring.

Looking up from his own ruddy cockhead, he finds himself facing down his professor's considerable length.

"Hands to yourself," Anderson purrs and Connor's hands fold in compliance. Fisting a hand in Connor's hair, he guides him forward.

The blunt tip taps against his lips seeking entrance and Connor spreads his mouth wide around Anderson's impressive girth. His professor knows how much he can take and keeps his thrusts just short of gagging.

"You know, I had planned to fuck you senseless that day before you put on your little show," Anderson says casually as if he's discussing Connor's behavior over a cup of tea instead of fucking his face.

"I'm not a patient man myself, but I know it's a bad idea to goad each other _during_ lecture."

Connor makes a muffled sound of protest that Anderson correctly interprets. "Me teasing you is a far cry from an over-the-pants handjob."

He goes still, his cock buried between Connor's lips, "Were you _patient_, Connor? Did you wait like I asked?" Connor nods around Anderson's length, blushing prettily.

Anderson touches his red cheek in fondness, "How you're still capable of this after all we've done...Lovely."

Connor's flush deepens and Anderson withdraws from his face with a wet pop.

"Bedroom," he murmurs quietly before leading Connor down a hall. Anderson's room is simple and much less terrifying than Connor expected.

Correctly interpreting Connor's expression, Anderson chuckles, "It doesn't take much to unravel a man at the seams. I had you ready to burst with the click of a button." He underscores his point by doing just that and Connor spasms as the plug vibrates with more force.

"Did you decide yet?" Anderson asks and Connor knows he's referring to his email.

"I-I'm not sure," he begins slowly, shifting against the toy pulsating inside him. Anderson approaches him from behind, his bared chest pressed to Connor's naked back. A whiskery kiss brushes the curve of his neck before Anderson murmurs, "Was something unclear?"

Connor sucks in a high-pitched breath when Anderson reaches around from behind to take him in hand.

"I wanted...to be sure," he struggles to get out the words, his brain fogged by wild desire.

"Go on," Anderson drawls, amused by Connor's predicament. Making Connor talk during sexual acts was one of his favorite activities.

"Which-whichever I chose," Connor's hand flies out to grip the footboard to steady himself. "You'll still...you won't..."

Words fail him and Anderson releases his grip on him in favor of turning him around to see his face, "I'll what, Connor?"

He closes his eyes against the question, "You'll fuck me?"

Understanding unravels in Anderson’s mind at the question. Connor isn't sure if he's still being punished.

"I've waited two days to have you," Anderson says softly, the back of his knuckles dragging across Connor's cheek. "I can be patient when I have to be."

Connor fears he's said the wrong thing after all, that Anderson will make him wait again. Panic wells inside him until his professor mutters darkly, "I'm not going to fuck you, Connor. I'm going to wreck you."

Connor makes a sound like a punctured balloon.

Anderson grins and clicks the remote once more while asking, "So. Did you decide?" He can almost see Connor reinflate with his trademark cocky confidence at the realization that he's not leaving without a thorough dicking first.

"Twice then," Connor replies then adds, "If you can manage it."

"Careful what you wish for," Anderson growls while maneuvering Connor roughly onto the mattress. Connor watches with heated eyes as his professor produces restraints from either side of the bed, strapping him into place.

Testing their resistance, he asks, "Why? I'm getting off twice tonight and you're going to rail me through the mattress. Win-Win."

His professor gives him a soft smile as if he's a very sweet but simple creature, "I didn't say how long I would take with the first one or how I was going to do it."

Connor's face pales beneath his freckles as Anderson's grin takes on a predatory gleam.

"I'd get comfortable if I were you. You're going to be here for a while."

Connor's words contort into a breathy moan as Anderson reaches between his legs to reposition the slightly curved plug to its optimal position, increasing the pulsating speed once more.

"Fffffffuuuuuck," Connor groans in agonized pleasure, rocking his hips against the toy.

"We'll get around to that eventually, yes," his professor agrees with him. "I'm feeling a bit peckish myself."

"Wha-what're you...?" Connor fades off in a question, his head flopping back onto the mattress when Anderson changes the speed and pulsing rhythm of the toy once more.

"Be back in a bit," he calls over his shoulder before striding out of the room.

If Connor wanted to play the brat, Anderson was more than willing to remind him of the costs. Writhing on his professor's bed, unable to touch himself for ten minutes or so ought to do the trick. Anderson had intended to take the lad in hand, but Connor's mouth had a way of changing his mind.

Hell, watching Connor come untouched was a treat in and of itself. He always wore a gorgeous blush in the aftermath.

Pouring himself a finger of whiskey, he smiles and sips his drink as Connor's whimpers grow louder and more desperate from down the hall.

When he returns to the room, Connor isn't fighting the restraints so much as he's clinging to them in frantic determination. Anderson knows that look. Connor is nearing orgasm and doesn't want to be. A brat to the end, then.

Anderson strokes Connor's face and he leans into the touch, trying to kiss his professor's palm, "Are you close, Connor?" He asks the question already knowing the answer. Connor nods, pleading brown eyes meeting a disimpassioned blue gaze.

"Please," the entreaty comes out ragged with need, "touch me."

The bed dips under Anderson's weight as he stretches out alongside Connor, his fingers trailing along Connor's jaw and down his neck. Connor lets out a whine that shifts to a high-pitched strangled sound when Anderson clicks the remote once more. Connor's hands spasm and clench around the restraints, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Don't you want to come, Connor?" Anderson asks as he toys with one of Connor's nipples, enjoying how it goes rigid and taut beneath his fingers.

"S-Sir, ha-aah," the start of his request fades off into a breathy moan as Anderson changes the vibration pattern once more.

"Trouble thinking?" Anderson asks, not expecting a response. "Do you require some assistance?" Anderson's hand drifts down Connor's belly to underscore his intention. Connor nods, his chest heaving in anticipation.

Anderson's hand snakes down, carefully avoiding Connor's rigid and leaking erection. Taking the base of the plug between his fingers, he works it in and out of Connor in shallow thrusts.

"Oh, god," Connor's eyes fly wide, realizing what his professor means to do.

"Please," Connor's voice strains as Anderson manipulates the toy to tease and stroke at the sweet spot inside him. "Not like...I can't. Please, touch me."

A flush creeps across Connor's cheeks as Anderson shakes his head. They both know Connor's perfectly capable of coming like this; he just finds it embarrassing.

Anderson turns his head to whisper in Connor's ear, "Watching you struggle against the inevitable is intoxicating."

"I could do this for hours," he continues, reducing the intensity of the vibrations as he speaks. Connor whimpers and Anderson smiles at the sound.

"Another lesson, I think," his professor mutters, propping himself up on one elbow to peer down at Connor's flustered face.

Connor's eyes snap open to meet his professor's indulgent gaze. It's at once reassuring and terrifying. "Wh-what le-lehhss," Connor breaks off in a hiss when Anderson's hand picks up speed, working the vibrating plug into him relentlessly.

Anderson smiles and it shakes Connor's careful control to his core, "Don't let your mouth write checks you're unprepared to cash."

He emphasizes the point by increasing the vibrations to the max, grinding the toy inside Connor in slow circles. His body goes rigid, a torrent of babbling nonsense following swiftly on the heels of a needy scream.

"Plea—oh, fuck. Oh, god. Please, sir. I need—I want. Fuck, please touch m—" Anderson silences him with a kiss, ravishing his mouth in a foreshadowing of what's still to come.

Pulling back, he strokes at Connor's face, his expression desperate and on the verge of breaking, "I'm right here, Connor. I've got you. You can let go."

Anderson's tone is soft yet demanding and Connor knows how this will end. It's in his nature to resist and defy, even if he knows it's a losing battle every time. Telltale heat coils deep within him, sending tremors along his arms and legs.

"I-I'm," Connor tries to issue a warning, but long-withheld release makes speaking nearly impossible.

A large hand cards through his hair and his professor murmurs, "I know."

Fingers clamped impossibly tight and head thrown back, Connor shrieks as his orgasm takes him. Warm ropes of sticky white spurts across his stomach and chest, shuddering with the force of his trembling.

Anderson exhales a pleased sigh, "Such an exquisite sight."

Embarrassment blossoms in a pink tinge across Connor's cheeks and he tries to hide his face despite the restraints. Anderson removes the toy and ring before gripping Connor's chin, forcing him to meet his eyes.

"Stunning," Anderson says firmly and Connor's self-consciousness gives way slightly under his professor's reverent gaze. It's only in these moments that Anderson lets his adoration show. Connor drinks it in, already thirsting for more.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WorseMake)


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